


Beneath Your Clothes

by couldbedangerous



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Possessive Behavior, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-31
Updated: 2012-01-31
Packaged: 2017-10-30 10:07:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/330573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/couldbedangerous/pseuds/couldbedangerous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is a different person under his clothes. His soft demeanour gives way to a strong and courageous man.<br/>This is the man that is Sherlock's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beneath Your Clothes

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first attempted at a PWP. Advice and comments are greatly appreciated! And, alas! it is un-betaed, so all mistakes are mine.  
> This started as part of a bigger collection of fics, but this just overshadowed them and consumed me. Hope you like.

Due to the nature of their work, Sherlock and John almost die frequently. However, tonight was the closest by far. The gang of muggers they had been pursuing had managed to manoeuvre the pair into a tight corner with the smallest of hope of escape. Though Sherlock would heatedly deny it later, the quick thinking of Mycroft saw them walk away with only minor contusions and cuts.

‘You ought to defend yourself next time,’ Sherlock started as he bent over to inspect John’s right arm. ‘I am perfectly capable of protecting myself when you aren’t so resolved on getting yourself killed for me.’

‘Shut up, you would have been strangled by the bloke with the neck tattoo if I hadn’t of got him first,’ John retorted. His face was twisted with pain as he tried to dress his still weeping arm.

‘Maybe so, but I knew that Mycroft was only moments away and I could hold my breath for the required one minute.’

‘How could you possibly know that he was -, never mind.’ John shook his head in frustration. While he was more dominant with his left hand, the continuous bleeding from where a knife had sliced made the job a near impossibility.

As John struggled with the bandage, Sherlock leaped from his chair and disappeared into the kitchen. Cupboard doors creaked and taps were turned before Sherlock stepped back into the living room with a loaded tray. John inspected the contents – water, oxycontin, more gauze, three custard creams and a pencil – as Sherlock lightly perched beside him again.

‘Eat, you won’t feel so light-headed,’ Sherlock instructed as he tentatively reached towards John’s arm, seeking permission to touch.

‘Shouldn’t I be eating something with a little more substance?’ John replied as he lowered his shaking hand and followed the order.

‘Yes, but we only have biscuits and I know that they are your favourite.’

‘Well then, thanks.’ The first bite into the cream dulled the taste of blood he’d been carrying since the fight. As he chewed he registered Sherlock’s still hands barely resting on my upper arm. Raising his gaze, he saw the hesitation in Sherlock’s pale eyes. ‘Go on then, before I get blood all over the rug.’

Instantly Sherlock lent forward and launched into action, wiping and pulling and cleaning all with tender touches leaving John with only the mildest of discomforts. John, knowing that the ache coming from his arm would continue for the next handful of days, swallowed the painkillers and began on the second cream. He watched the other man’s fingers operate with the dexterity and gentleness of a trained professional.

‘Why do you never just fix yourself up? Always relying on me to tape you together again.’

‘Because John,’ Sherlock began without taking his eyes away from the wound, ‘I always feel more assured by the quality of your workings in this area than mine.’

The compliment shocked John back into silence. They continued like this until the dressing was tight and secure. Sherlock sluggishly let his hands drift to a rest on John’s lower arm, as if by accident, before he brought his eyes up. ‘I’m sure that I don’t need to tell you about proper cleanin -’

‘You don’t.’ John retorted with a smile dancing around the corners of his mouth.

‘Good.’

Physical intimacy never held any appeal to Sherlock. Truth be told, intimacy as a general state with someone else always repulsed him. He never encouraged nor did he endorse touches or any sort of closeness. However, he could not bring himself to shy away from the man in front of him now. The closer he was to this man’s luminosity and brilliance, the more - something - he felt. He had studied, dissected and catalogued this feeling for the last six months, and still he was without the precise word to define it. All he knew was that no one had stirred this feeling within him before and he doubted that anyone would again.

Without conscious effort or hidden agenda, he slid his hands up to stroke at the exposed skin of John’s marked shoulder. Just like everything else about John, his clothes surprised Sherlock. His too soft jumpers and occasionally ill-fitting trousers gave him the appearance of an average everyman. It made him susceptible to the attention of woman and the trust of minors. But stripped of his armour as he was now, Sherlock saw his John – brave, loyal, quick, righteous. And that’s just what he was. His John.

As a general rule, John did not like people seeing his hard, raw edges. His scarred body was simply a memento of past traumas, and one that he did not want shared with the world. Although he should have felt this enduring sense of indignity, under Sherlock’s peerless eyes he could only feel the need to be seen and understood.

‘John?’ he asked no louder than a whisper.

‘Yes, Sherlock?’

‘You’re mine. You know that, don’t you?’

‘Of course I do.’

‘Good.’

John’s hands were steady when he reached for Sherlock’s lapels and closed the distance between them. The first brush of lips was merely a ghost of a kiss, both men content with breathing in the other. John could have stayed suspended in this state for days – lightly kissing and touching the man that he’d been fantasising about for five torturous months. But as the minutes passed, Sherlock’s kisses turned more forceful with his growing impatience.

John returned Sherlock’s kisses in earnest, sucking gently on his lower lip and probing deeper into his mouth. Sherlock tasted just like he smelt – clean and warm and a little bit like tea. Slowly, John mouthed his way to where Sherlock’s neck met his shoulder, licking and nipping as he did so. Overcome by the desire to touch and take, he lazily carded his fingers through Sherlock’s thick black curls. As he tugged lightly to gain better access to his clavicle, John became aware of the heavy panting coming from above him.

‘God John, are you purposely trying to torment me?’ Sherlock said, pulling away. Drinking in this vision of him – lids hooded with pleasure, cheeks slightly flushed and an erection straining against his trousers – John stood, dragging Sherlock up with him.

‘Bedroom. Now.’ John ordered under his breath. Sherlock all but ran up the stairs towards Sherlock’s room.

 

**

 

One of the first things John had noticed about Sherlock was his clothing. Immaculately tailored suits, sweeping coats, hand-stitched leather gloves. It was hard not to notice the grandeur of the threads that the other man wore. He also knew the unwavering care with which Sherlock treated his clothes. He only frequented a specific cleaner and meticulously hung the garments an inch apart. He shined his shoes (as far as John could tell) daily, and kept a comprehensive sock index. 

So when Sherlock torn his silk shirt off, popping three buttons, he was equal parts stunned and, truth be told, flattered.

‘Yes,’ John growled as he pulled Sherlock close. Their mouths met effortlessly as they kissed with none of the restraints of before, bodies flush against one another. Sherlock’s hands gripped at John’s hair as he set about slowly fucking the other man’s mouth with his tongue. The taste of John was intoxicating. He’d never wanted like this before. Never wanted so much more before. More.

Not one to be outdone, John’s hands explored the vast planes of Sherlock’s chest and back. An experimental pinch at his nipples had Sherlock moan low into his mouth. Breaking the kiss, John moved his lips down Sherlock’s neck, marking the pale flesh with his teeth. Kissing down his chest to his nipples, John’s hands cupped Sherlock’s ass firmly and squeezed. Before long, Sherlock was panting under John’s mouth, bucking wildly against the smaller man.

‘John,’ he moaned. ‘Please, John, please, fuck…’

‘I want you on the bed.’ John’s voice came thick and raw. ‘I want you to get out of those pants. And, I want you come screaming my name.’ With thick fingers, Sherlock removed his offending garment. He almost groaned as the cool air of the room touched his cock.

‘Yes, very nice,’ John whispered as he knelt down in front of him. With that, he took Sherlock’s cock as deep into his mouth. He heard Sherlock above him bite his hand to stifle his moans. He licked slowly from base to head before standing up and pointing towards the bed. Shakily, Sherlock climbed on and sat in the middle – legs spread and cock bobbing against his stomach. Following him, John knelt between his legs before returning his mouth to suck lazily at Sherlock’s erection.

‘Oh g-god John, p-p-please, just, oh, f-f-fuck,’ Sherlock stuttered between breaths. Lying back, he gripped at the sheets and recounted the periodic table, willing his fast-approaching orgasm away. But John’s mouth was wet and hot around his cock and he was struggling to beat the tension pooling at the base of his spine. 

‘Oh John, I’m going to –,’ Sherlock sobbed before John pulled off him completely. The loss of sensation caused him to whimper as John’s month closed over his. Letting Sherlock calm down, John explored his mouth again, nipping at his lips and sucking on his tongue. Minutes later, Sherlock was composed in his arms again.

‘We need to get these,’ Sherlock tugged at John’s pants with disdain, ‘off right now.’ Working the zipper down and the pants off, John leant over Sherlock.

‘Better?’

‘Much.’ Sherlock replied as his hand finally curled around John’s leaking cock.

All air was forced from John’s lungs. John’s brain short-circuited as Sherlock’s thumb swept over the head and spread his pre-come down his shaft. Sherlock worked his fingers deftly, one two three strokes down his length before tugging gently at his balls and back again. Breathing in ragged gasps against Sherlock’s chest, John felt the pressure of fingers ease.

‘John, please, I need you,’ Sherlock sighed. ‘You in me, now, god.’ Not needing to be asked again, John slid his body down, throwing Sherlock’s legs over his shoulders. Sherlock felt the warmth of John’s mouth close around him again, but not enough, not what he needs. ‘Please John, I need -,’ he managed before being cut off by the feeling of John’s soft tongue swiping down his cleft. Spreading his legs wider, he bit down hard on his hand to quieten the sounds escaping him because of the tongue circling and pressing at his ring of muscle. John licked and sucked at his entrance before easing his tongue in. Holding Sherlock hips still, he worked at lubricating him as Sherlock stroked himself in time to each thrust.

‘Enough John, ohh… I’m ready,’ Sherlock whispered as he grabbed a pillow to place under his hips. Letting go of Sherlock’s hips with one hand, John straightened and hesitated before spitting on his hand.

‘Remind me to put lube on the shopping list,’ John said before slicking himself up. Sherlock grunted in response as he clawed and pulled at John’s hips. Lining himself up with Sherlock’s hole, he slowly eased himself in until he was buried to the hilt. Sherlock’s body was hot and tight and god, he could feel every shiver and tremor coming from him. John pulled almost completely out and pressed back into Sherlock, sending sparks through his vision as he bottomed out.

‘God Sherlock, you’re so beautiful, so tight, so… god,’ John groaned. Establishing a rhythm, John lent down to capture Sherlock’s mouth. Kissing greedily at him, he planted wet kiss after kiss over Sherlock’s flushed face. John licked down his neck to take Sherlock’s sensitive nipple back into his mouth, receiving heated moans in response. 

At this new angle, each thrust was grazing against Sherlock’s prostate, quickly reducing him to biting back sobs. Before long, his balls were tightening and his breath coming in short gulps. ‘John, I’m going to come. Oh god, yes, John,’ he moaned as he covered his face and bit his forearm.

‘No Sherlock, I want to see your gorgeous face as you come.’ Complying, Sherlock grabbed the pillow under his head. It took John two strokes at Sherlock’s cock to push him over the edge, throwing his head back and screaming a combination of fuck and mine and John and oh as he spilled over John’s hand. Ringing the last of Sherlock’s orgasm out of him, John grabbed roughly at his hips and slammed in. Five more thrusts and John was coming, buried deep in Sherlock and moaning low. His vision whited-out before he collapsed on top of his new lover. 

Sherlock whined softly at the loss as John carefully pulled out of him and rolled onto his back. In a silent plea to stay, Sherlock nestled his face into the crook of John’s neck and wrapped his long limbs around his friend.

‘How’s the arm?’ Sherlock breathed onto his neck.

‘Forgotten. Effectively.’ A smile crept into John’s tone as he lifted his hand to soothe through Sherlock’s ruffled hair.

‘Can you buy litre tubs of lubricant?’ Sherlock asked as he pulled the covers over them before resuming his position.

‘I’ll see what I can do.’ John closed his eyes knowing that he would.


End file.
